


Pheromonal

by hopeless_aromantic



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: First Time, Monsterfucking, Other, PWP, Scent Kink, reader is described with cis female anatomy but no gendered terms are used
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26148874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_aromantic/pseuds/hopeless_aromantic
Summary: Sometimes, Indrid wishes his sense of smell wasn’t quite so... keen.
Relationships: Indrid Cold (The Adventure Zone)/Reader
Comments: 20
Kudos: 56





	1. Would Smell As Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> HEY HEY LONG TIME NO SEE, FELLOW MOTHFUCKERS!! i'm back (just in time for the one year anniversary of the first thing i wrote for indrid,,,) with somethin new!! or, i suppose, im back with the same old bullshit as usual,, this one was a little too long for the one shot collection, so it's a standalone! I hope you enjoy it!  
> As always: sorry, McElroys, for my sins

Indrid has never considered his enhanced chemosense to be a _problem_ before. It’s how he’s used to experiencing the world around him—though in his disguise, he doesn’t have the large, feathery antennae of his true Sylvan form, and thus lacks his usual discerning sense of smell. Over the years, he’s gotten used to a human nose, of course, but when he is safe to take off his glasses and be himself, the world around him comes to life with scent.

He can smell all the different flowers in the forest, the rain that’s bound to fall, the unique scents of every person who crosses his path—not that many cross his path when he’s, well, _moth-ed out_ , as you would put it.

Ah, but therein lies the problem.

\-----

It happened the very first time he revealed his true form to you. He had been terrified—despite his visions showing him otherwise, he could only imagine that you would feel fear or revulsion toward him—but you hadn’t screamed, hadn’t so much as taken a step backwards in surprise. Your eyes had widened, sure, but the only thing he could see there was curiosity. Intrigue. _Excitement._

“Well,” he had said, “I’m the mothman.”

You had grinned.

And then, his sense of smell kicked in.

He could smell the soap you use, and your shampoo, your laundry detergent—all the familiar scents that make his heart race by sheer pavlovian association—but underneath it all was something _new_. Something... deeper. More intimate.

It took him a moment to place it, but when he did, it took all his willpower to appear unaffected; to remain standing. _Arousal_.

Suddenly, he was very glad that Mothpeople can’t blush—although, if he didn’t put his disguise back on soon, he was going to start emitting pheromones of his own. And that’s a complication he didn’t need.

The implications of that scent had occupied his mind for days. Had it been his true form that had affected you so? Or was it coincidence? After all, the human body often has strange reactions... and it’s not like he could have _asked_. Still. Whatever the reason, you had been unmistakably aroused. And that excited him.

To think that even an ounce of his affections could already be returned, that you could be attracted to him? In his true form?

Suffice it to say, as soon as you had left that night—no doubt with much to think about, with the revelation of aliens and other planets—Indrid had been unable to control himself. He had gone straight to bed, moaning your name as he imagined your scent surrounding him; imagined your soft skin against his hard chitin, your plush lips against his mandibles.

And it had only gotten worse from there.

\-----

It’s not like Indrid makes a _habit_ of taking off his disguise—even alone in his Winnebago, the ceilings are too low for him to stretch his wings—but now that you know the truth, he’s finding it more and more difficult to keep his glasses on. When you take a walk in the woods with him, and ask him (blushing madly) if you can see him fly, he doesn’t even consider refusing your request. Not when he can already see the delight in your eyes—at the sheer impossibility of what you’re seeing? At the feeling of being trusted by him? He doesn’t know. And at first, it’s fine! He can control himself; even if he _is_ verging into “show-off” territory by swooping through the air, doing somersaults through the canopy, making you laugh and whoop and cheer...

But he lands hard and fast—half-tempted to take a bow; he hasn't flown like that in ages—and as he rises to his full height, your expression stops him cold. Your face has reddened, cheeks aflame as you look up at him with a smile, your eyes tracking the heaving of his chest (first from exertion, but now with nerves as well) and the twitching of his antennae. Even outdoors, with the myriad smells all around, the scent of your arousal is unmistakable. The palpable tension in the air between you has grown thick and syrupy, and for a moment, Indrid half believes that this is finally going to be it—but you clear your throat with a laugh, praise him for his fancy flying, and the conversation moves on.

He quickly slips his disguise back on as he follows you through the forest, hoping that you haven’t noticed the scent of the pheromones he unwillingly let off in response—but if you do, you don’t say anything. He’s happy, of course, to spend a pleasant afternoon with you, walking and chatting and enjoying each other’s company, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the disappointment of that unresolved tension from earlier. It’s hard not to be distracted, with the memory of your scent so fresh in his mind.

Thus, the thoughts linger, and when he’s finally alone, he does what he does best: he overthinks.

Could it really be a coincidence? Your arousal in his presence? He wishes that he still had access to his true form’s sense of smell when in his disguise, so that he could know if this was... a regular occurrence. Is it so wrong for him to hope that you feel the same around him no matter which form he takes?

(His Winnebago is a bit cramped when he’s in his true form, but he’s too caught up in fantasies to care, too busy imagining the day when it will be your hand wrapped around his cock rather than his own.)

\-----

When the whole lodge is out in the hot springs, safe in the knowledge that no one in Kepler will go running at the sight of a bunch of aliens in a pool together, Indrid doesn’t have much of an excuse to leave his glasses on. He could have stayed home and avoided the entire situation... but to be frank, he’s too weak a (moth)man to stay home when his crush is having fun in a swimsuit. He’ll stay in the water, and so will you, and neither of you will have to deal with any scent-related awkwardness. Probably. There’s a 50/50 chance. 

Your smile is brighter than the afternoon sun, and every time you laugh, it sends pangs of warmth through Indrid’s chest that rival the August heat. Another beautiful day is giving way to a hazy summer evening in Kepler, West Virginia, and Indrid has never been happier.

Especially not when you sidle up next to him in the water, grinning mischievously as you beckon for him to lean down so you can whisper something to him. His heart is racing as he complies, and he wonders, distantly, if yours is too.

“I’m gonna start a splash fight against Aubrey, will you back me up when things get ugly?” You whisper.

Warmth blooms inside him. _Will you back me up?_ The answer comes easily, and he grins. “Always.”

And it does indeed “get ugly,” with Aubrey immediately using Sylvain’s magic to go on the offensive, but Indrid is a man of his word, using his wings to shield you from the worst of her attack. The smile he earns for his valor is all the recompense he needs as he sends a powerful wave back toward Aubrey, drenching her and Dani (and an unfortunate Barclay) in one fell swoop. Behind him, you give a cheer, and then it’s on.

Practically the whole lodge joins the action—except Mama, though Indrid does catch her smiling on the sidelines a couple of times—and it doesn’t take long before there’s almost as much water _outside_ the hot springs as there is _inside_. But all good things must come to an end; and when Barclay and Joseph leave to start cooking dinner, the rest of the group slowly follows suit.

Indrid tries his best not to stare—at least, not too obviously—as you get out of the pool, still laughing as you wrap a towel around yourself and then grab another to hand to him. In answer, he hoists himself out of the spring and stands to his full height. With a grin—or rather, spreading his mandibles in a facsimile of a grin—he flares his wings and _shakes_ himself, sending water flying everywhere and making you laugh that golden, giddy laugh that he loves so much.

“Indrid,” you splutter, shielding your face. His voice joins yours as you continue, “I didn’t know you were part _dog_ person!”

“Didn’t you know?” He says, laughter underlacing his tone, “there’s a moth called the dogwood borer.”

You grab another dry towel, and he’s already reaching to grab it before you throw it at his head. Once again, he’s glad for the fact that you can’t yet read his facial expressions well—he knows he looks impossibly fond as you stick your tongue out at him, then run past him into the lodge. You purposefully bump your hip against his as you go, laughing the whole way.

He takes a moment to stare after you with a happy sigh. And then he picks up the scent of his own pheromones.

_Shit._

If anyone asks why he’s already back in his disguise, he’ll just tell them it’s easier to dry off that way.

(When he Sees you ask Barclay, perplexed, if he was cooking with pineapple, Indrid freezes. “ _I could have sworn I smelled pineapples,_ ” you tell him. “ _Guess I’m just going crazy_.” 

He reminds himself that he owes Barclay big time for simply biting his tongue. After all, on Sylvain, it would be rude to comment on another’s pheromones, for those species that can smell them.)

(Putting on his disguise certainly solves the problem of pheromones... but he wishes he didn’t have to deal with the complication that a boner presents. How do humans _do this?_ )


	2. Actually, would smell Twice as sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If last chapter was “3 times Indrid got super turned on because you smelled good,” this one is “and one time he actually did something about it”  
> Also I forgot to mention: yes there is a real species of moth whose pheromones smell like pineapple: it’s the gold swift moth and they are known for being kinky.  
> And one more note: i tried something a little different, writing this from indrid’s POV rather than the reader’s! I hope you enjoy it!

The past several weeks, Indrid has kept his disguise on. It’s too risky; every time he’s around you, he can’t help the way his body reacts to your scent. The mere fact of your occasional arousal in his presence is enough to knock him off kilter—to muddle his future sight and turn him into a desperate fool.

Well, it isn’t as if he’s _not_ a desperate fool around you in his disguise as well... but at least as a human, he can neither smell your arousal nor let off pheromones of his own.

Now, he’s on your couch, sitting next to you as a movie plays, but it’s little more than background noise to the swirling possibilities in his mind, the near-dizzying sensation of changing and shifting futures. Something’s been on your mind all night, distracting you, making you anxious—Indrid can tell, and it’s making _him_ nervous too, because the future isn’t exactly helping him figure out what’s wrong. Instead, he’s jumpy with the possibility of tonight being the night he finally tells you how he feels. It’s foggy, and there’s too much there for him to focus properly, but the possibility exists. 

If he could just take a moment to clear his head, maybe he could See what he needs to do... but your thigh is resting against his, and his concentration is suffering.

Why is it so difficult to say the things he wants to say?

Lost in thought, he startles back to reality when you clear your throat.

“Indrid,” you ask, averting your eyes. It’s only then that he sees the question coming, and he only has a few seconds to come up with a reassuring lie as he blushes. “Are you... afraid to take off your disguise around me?”

His first priority is to assure you that you’ve done nothing wrong. “Of course not!” He can’t exactly say “ _it’s just that in my true form, I can’t hide how horny you make me.”_

Second priority: give a convincing reason. “There just aren’t many places where I have enough room, you see?”

You frown, seemingly unconvinced. “Oh...” you rub your arm, still not meeting his gaze. “Well, you know that if I’ve done anything to make you think that, like, I don’t like your Sylvan form, or anything like that... you can tell me, right? I... I like you for who you are.” Your face is awfully red now, and Indrid’s is the same.

_I like you for who you are..._ Surely you mean it in a platonic sense, but he can’t help the way his heart thrums, as if it was something more. He smiles, wobbly and sincere. “I know that.”

Then, Indrid’s visions clear, and his heart nearly stops entirely.

He goes rigid, blushing fiercely. Your eyes snap up to meet his, and he audibly gulps.

“Indrid?” Your voice has a tinge of panic to it, not understanding his reaction.

“I like you for who you are, as well,” he blurts out, mind swirling with dizzying possibilities. “You know that, right?”

Confused, slightly taken aback, you blink a few times, that beautiful blush deepening even further. “I... yes? Indrid, is everything alright?”

The visions have converged—there’s only one outcome now. Indrid takes a shaky breath. “You want to know why I don’t often take off my disguise around you?”

Your brows furrow, and you nod.

He removes his glasses, watches your eyes carefully as you take in his true form. He can smell the lotion you use, your detergent, the flavor of your chapstick. And he can smell the heady, rich scent of your arousal. It’s almost too much, this close to you, but he takes another deep, steadying breath. “My antennae,” he says, and you tilt your head.

“Your antennae?”

“You know that they are my sense of smell, yes?”

“Yeah?”

“I do not have the same sense of smell in my disguise.”

“Okay...?”

_No more beating around the bush._ “When I’m in my true form, I can smell... you.”

_Oh, shit, no, that came out wrong_. 

You visibly panic. “Oh, oh my god I’m sorry, do I smell—”

“ _No!_ ” he frantically corrects, “No, you don’t smell bad, it’s the opposite!”

Panic once again turns to confusion. He _really_ isn’t doing this smoothly. “The... opposite? You mean I smell... good?”

_Now for the_ really _embarrassing part_. He nods. “You smell very good. But what do _you_ smell?”

“Um,” you close your eyes and sniff the air. “I don’t know, fruit? Like, pineapple?”

“What do you know about pheromones?”

Finally, realization dawns. Your eyes widen (cutely, if he may add) and your blush travels across your face, reddening the tips of your ears and crawling down your neck. (He can’t help but wonder how far it goes). “Oh,” you breathe. “ _Oh._ D-does that mean...?”

The scent of your arousal intensifies, and Indrid shudders, leaning into your personal space. Your breathing quickens, but you don’t pull back. “When I first told you, showed you who I was... when I first smelled you... you were aroused.” His voice is low, hesitant.

You make an embarrassed squeaking noise, but he continues. “I was embarrassed, and I didn’t want to tell you that I knew. Human bodies do strange things. It could’ve been a coincidence.”

Your eyes are so wide, so beautiful; he can see the light from his own, glowing and red, reflected in them. “It wasn’t,” you murmur quietly, and relief washes over Indrid so completely that he could laugh.

“No, I suppose it wasn’t. Still, my body, my physiology... it reacts as well. I don’t take off my disguise around you because, when I do, I can’t keep from emitting my own pheromones.”

“I-Indrid,” you whisper.

“Yes,” he breathes, before you have the chance to ask if you can kiss him.

And finally, _finally_ , Indrid leans in, lets you press your lips against his mandibles, and his chest rumbles with a deep purr. It’s not a traditional kiss—nothing about the two of you is traditional—but it makes his heart beat so fast that he’s afraid it might hammer right out of his thorax. 

He rests his forehead against yours, feeling warm all over. “Tell me how long you’ve felt this way,” he asks, nearly pleading.

And he knows the answer, but still, when you tell him, “since... pretty soon after we met?” He melts.

“For the record, I’ve felt this way since before I ever met you. I saw you in my visions, I saw _this_ , and I knew. I fell for you. I _love_ you.”

Before you can even respond, Indrid has you on your back, lightly nipping your neck with his mandibles, and the scent of _you_ surrounds him, so strong now that he can hardly think. His wings are flared behind him, casting you both in shadow as he takes in your every little reaction—the widening of your eyes, the tremor of your breath. You’re so _beautiful._

You gasp, surprised by his brashness, but you don’t try to stop him, only murmuring as his tongue uncoils and finds your skin, “Indrid, I love you too.”

His heart sings. Everything is finally falling into place. He nips your neck again and your breath hitches, just like he knew it would. 

“Also,” he says, tone lighter now, though he can’t help the slight purr underneath his words, “your scent makes me _unbelievably_ horny.”

You laugh, an adorably embarrassed giggle that only spurs him on. What he wouldn’t give to remove the layers separating you, to lose himself in that scent, lose himself in you. To stay in this moment for the rest of time.

“Indrid,” you say, nervous even though you _have_ to understand how badly he wants this, if only by the fact that his pheromones are nearly overpowering now. “Do you want to—”

“ _Yes,_ ” comes his immediate response. Whatever you want, whatever he can give you—

He sighs happily as you kiss him again, your fingers carding through the fluffy mane around his neck. Your touch sends sparks through his system, your hands so delicate; so small compared to his huge, alien form.

He lets his own hands wander as well, all four of them exploring your skin, so soft and pliant against his chitinous exoskeleton. The visions he’s seen for so long, that have rendered him nearly useless every time he interacts with you, can’t hold a _candle_ to the way it feels to finally touch you—every brush of his claws against your skin, and every point of contact between your hands and his thorax—it’s more intoxicating than he ever could have dreamed. And the scent—oh _goddess_ , your _scent!_

He kisses you, as best he can, and tries not to moan at every little movement of your fingertips—though when he finally fails to keep himself quiet, he finds that you _very clearly_ enjoy the sound.

You move to let him remove your shirt, biting your lip as he runs his claws so gently across your chest, and the way you lean into his touch makes him _ache_ with desire. He’s _seen_ this, seen it in a thousand timelines, in a million ways—he knows exactly the way you’ll twitch when he brings his claws down your stomach, knows the flush of your cheeks and the enthusiasm with which your hands trace every inch of his skin. 

“Indrid, I—” _want you, love you, need you_ ; the words all come simultaneously in his visions, as if you can’t decide how to finish your sentence, but he knows the feeling well. 

“Me too,” he groans, and as he nips your chest, your scent grows ever stronger.

He jolts when you find the junction of his wings and back, the little chink in his armor where a sliver of sensitive skin is left exposed; and he watches as you grin and repeat the action, just to watch him shiver again.

Two can play at that game, though, and he has the advantage of months of visions, each showing him the reaction’s he’ll get when he touches you in certain ways. He grins back at you, slipping his fingers just beneath the waistband of your shorts, and delights in the little sound you make: a quick _mmf!_ as you shudder in his embrace.

Your scent surrounds him; you’re so aroused, it’s sweet to the point of cloying, pressing down on him from every angle. It’s too much, he can’t keep his hands to himself—everything is _you_. He can’t keep his own arousal contained, a reverberating growl slipping from his throat; but that only makes your scent stronger, and Indrid is drowning, happily sinking beneath the waves. He’s coming unsheathed, his cock desperate for your touch, but he has to make this last...

He stands suddenly, scooping you into his arms and letting you wrap your legs around his abdomen with a laugh.

“ _Bed_ ,” he says with you, whisking you to the bedroom as soon as you confirm with a nod. He lays you down gently, bracing himself over you with one pair of arms, the others on your skin, and the look on your face has him melting, falling, so in love he can hardly stand it: smiling up at him with your eyes so wide, so full of wonder, echoing the love in his own gaze...

Your hands move down his thorax to his abdomen, and he gasps.

“Please,” he pants, “you smell so good...”

The desperation in his voice, the tips of his claws running down your stomach, he knows it’s driving you crazy; your back arches as you whine a plea of your own. Eagerly, you help him shimmy your shorts off, and you squeal when he shudders, lowering his face to your underwear. 

Indrid growls again, making you whimper, and it’s the sweetest sound he can imagine—he can feel himself beginning to twitch and shake. “ _Fuck_ ,” he curses. “I’m sorry if this is too forward, but, _goddess_ , can I please taste you?”

Any coherent thoughts you might have seem to stall, and all you can do is nod. “ _Yes_ , yes _please, Indrid—_ ”

In his haste to have you naked, Indrid simply rips your underwear off with his claws, but he knows you won’t be upset about it; not when he hoists your legs over his shoulders and buries his face between your thighs. His groan reverberates through your core, and you echo the sound as his long tongue pushes between your folds and grants you the pressure you’ve been dreaming of since you first met him, all those months ago. Your hands fly to his antennae, drooping over your stomach, and when your fingertips brush against them, Indrid moans again, the sound vibrating against your skin.

His tongue brushes against your clit, exploratory, and you cry out his name, tugging lightly on one antenna. His hips snap forward at that, the smell of pineapple nearly overwhelming both of your senses, and he could almost laugh, if he weren’t so busy moaning. 

“You,” he mumbles, muffled between your thighs, “smell so fucking good,” he pauses, his long, thin tongue wrapping itself around your clit in a way that makes you gasp for air. “But _goddess_ , you _taste_ even better.”

“ _Indr—ah!_ ” You cry as he sets a pace, proboscis flicking against you rhythmically, then curling around you with a slight suction that leaves you moaning, breathing so heavy that your chest heaves. 

You smell— _taste_ —so good, and Indrid’s never felt like this before, drawing moan after moan from your lips like he’s trained for it, like he already knows exactly how you like it—though, he supposes he does, what with his future vision and all.

His claws bite into the soft flesh of your hips as he holds you steady, eating you out with desperate enthusiasm, and he knows you’re all too quickly approaching the edge as you gasp his name, endless pleas that are hardly even recognizable words anymore. And all the while, Indrid keeps groaning, and humming, and taking you apart so thoroughly—you jolt in his arms with a cry of, “ _oh, fuck, so close!_ ”

He only picks up the pace, somehow, and you can’t keep your legs from tightening around his head. He uses two of his hands to hold your thighs apart, the other two anchoring your hips to the mattress, and you’re babbling, squirming, writhing under his ministrations.

“I, _fuck! Indrid, I’m—ah!—gonna come, please!_ ”

The tension, supercoiled inside you, finally snaps, and you practically scream Indrid’s name as you come against his mouth, all of your muscles tensing at once. He slows, but doesn’t stop, his long, thin tongue still rubbing against your clit as he helps you ride out your orgasm, shaking and gasping in his grip.

When he finally decides you’ve had enough, Indrid lets you go, taking his tongue away with an obscene slurping noise that would make you laugh if you weren’t still shuddering. Gingerly, he sets your legs back down onto the bed, crawling over you with obvious self-satisfaction and— _oh_ —quite obvious arousal, as well.

He nuzzles into your neck with a purr as you come down, sweat slicked across your forehead. Your eyes are closed tight as your breathing begins to even out, though the way your hips are still slightly moving in the aftershocks is making his head swim with arousal—the smallest bit of friction against his unsheathed cock fogging over his brain as he nips at your skin. He knows you must be oversensitive now, but he can’t help grinding against you in an attempt to ease his aching need, your scent still all-encompassing, near suffocating—

His eyes fly open when you gasp loudly, and he realizes he’s begun to rut against you rather forcefully, the slick of both of your arousal easing the movement of his cock against your thighs.

“Indrid,” you groan, gripping his mane with both hands.

“I’m sorry,” he pants, forcing himself to slow his movements. “I didn’t mean—”

You shake your head. “No, don’t stop, _please—_ ”

And Indrid is set alight. _I want you, I need you, I love you_ —all the words again on the tip of his tongue as he picks up the pace once more, though all that comes out is a strangled chittering sound, something desperate and primal; but _fuck_ , it only makes the scent of your arousal stronger, fighting the smell of his pheromones for dominance, the small bedroom heavy and choking with it.

He chitters again, his cock twitching, and you pull him down to kiss him, your tongue against his, playing against the sharp teeth hidden by his mandibles. He’s getting so worked up, he can hardly think, all he knows is the desire he feels, the wonder of what’s finally happening, the way his body _feels_ as he grinds his hips down to meet yours—

Your name falls from his lips, and he feels you nod. 

“Yes,” you breathe, answering his unspoken question. 

“Are you— _nng_ —are you sure?” He’s large, and inhuman, and he doesn’t want to hurt you, but he feels you spread your legs for him and he could nearly cry with how much he _wants_ you; _needs_ to be inside you.

You nod again, with a whine this time. “Yes, god, Indrid, _fuck me—_ ”

He doesn’t need you to ask twice. He lifts your hips with one pair of hands, rubbing the claws of his thumbs in little circles on your hipbones. You’re so lovely, so beautiful, he _loves_ you, he _needs you_ —

Slowly and carefully and oh-so-gently, Indrid lines himself up and pushes inside you, electricity sparking along his skin as he gasps your name. Seeing this in his visions, touching himself to the thought of it for months, none of it could have possibly prepared him for the way it feels to sink inside you, so warm and wet and _tight_ —he folds himself against you, whining into your neck, tears springing to his eyes because he’s _never_ felt so good, all while you arc up into him, hands fisted into his fluff, crying out his name—

There’s no way he can last long like this, not when the slightest movement of either of your hips sends him shuddering, but he can’t stop, slowly pulling himself out almost entirely before pushing back in, groaning with his eyes shut tight, the sensations nearly too much, his mind hazy with pleasure. Your voice is encouraging in his ear, soft and muddled by your own desire as you use one hand to rub yourself while he slowly thrusts. “ _That’s it, baby,_ ” you gasp as he shivers, “oh, _Indrid—_ ”

Tension is coiling in his gut already, the pleasure overwhelming his senses as he speeds up, just a little bit, only at your behest, only what makes you feel good—but oh, _goddess_ , he feels good too—so good, so _fucking_ good—

He’s only vaguely aware of the fact that he’s begun to babble, praise and _I love you_ ’s and how _amazing_ he feels. He’s shaking and chittering and clicking his mandibles as he tumbles toward the edge, his cock twitching deep inside you, your warmth around him, so much, so _good_ , he’s _gonna—gonna...!_

“ _Please, Indrid,_ ” you moan, and he knows you’re close by the sound of your voice, the way you clench around him, adding to the sensations taking over his mind. “ _Please come for me!_ ”

Teetering on the edge, he finally tips over with a cry, his whole body convulsing as he comes inside you, grasping at you desperately with all four clawed hands. Your walls shudder around him as he rides out his high, weakly thrusting into you until he can’t anymore, shaking and spent.

For a minute, he simply breathes with you, unable to do much else as you lazily run your fingers over his back. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt such pure bliss.

He feels, rather than sees, you grin against him, a loving smirk at what a mess the two of you have made.

“So,” you smile. “How was it?”

If Indrid could blush in his true form, he would. “Amazing?” He replies. “Earth-shattering? Everything I’ve dreamt of and more?”

He’s gratified by the red of your own cheeks as you laugh. “Yeah,” you cup his face with one hand, leaning in close. “Me too.”

Looking into your eyes, Indrid can see the future he’s hardly dared to hope could come true. All this time, he’s feared that it would simply disappear one day, taking his chance at happiness with it. But the love he sees in your eyes, the love that he feels for you... in this moment, he can finally picture a happily ever after. 

Holding your gaze, he musters every ounce of sincerity he has. “I love you,” he says; and if the future is half as bright as your smile, then Indrid has nothing to fear.

“I love you, too,” you say, and Indrid’s heart soars.

The two of you will certainly have to clean up before you fall asleep... but for now, Indrid can’t help it: he kisses you again, deeply, and allows everything else to slip away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you all enjoyed!! gotta love that good good scent kink,  
> As always, you can find me on [tumblr](https://extraterrestrial-apis.tumblr.com/), or join our discord, Indridfuckers Inc. <3


End file.
